ParPru drabbles
by cuckoo clover
Summary: "When, in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes,/I all alone beweep my outcast state,/And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,/And look upon myself, and curse my fate." - William Shakespeare. A collection of ParPru drabbles.
1. Voice of un ange

_J'avoue j'en ai bavé pas vous mon amour,  
Avant d'avoir eu vent de vous mon amour…_

The first two lines sounded so good and perfect that Gilbert thought that it was from the radio. Some cheesy French songs from the 50s gently playing on a gramophone, André loved to play those around his house.

He realised that there was no background music to it, instead accompanied by the sizzling sound of breakfast (likely eggs from the rich, savoury aroma) over the pan, and in André's smooth, jazzy voice. André's voice? He couldn't believe that he could sound so… quiet and intimate. He usually spoke in a sarcastic tone in everyday conversation, and in a rougher tone. Sure, he spoke intimately often, but passionately and vigorously as well. This time? Well, it sounded like he was whispering to a newborn baby or something, with a sense of careful fragility to it.

Prussia stepped in full view of the kitchen. Paris was still humming the song while cracking an egg into the pan, wearing an apron over a sweater with his hair loose. The morning sun framed him in a halo that to be honest... made him look stunning.

Glancing towards Gilbert, he smirked, and usual Paris was back. "So. I finally woke up earlier than you." He smirked and leaned against the door frame.

"You didn't wake up at 3am in the morning like last time, did you?" Gilbert asked, knowing how André liked to stay in bed for longer.

"Nope, just got lucky," André teased. He turned the heat off, and put the fried eggs onto a dish and garnished it with parsley and salt and pepper before carrying it to the dinner table. "Breakfast's ready, mon ange," he reminded. "Bon appétit!" Prussia sat down, though his focus was focused on Paris, who had started to indulge in his own breakfast, and he smirked.

"Mon ange?" He said with a smirk, "Little ironical, considering that _you're_ the one with the voice of an angel." Taken aback, Paris widened his eyes and gulped down his egg, Prussia laughing at his reaction.

"Me? The voice of an angel?" He gave a shy smile, and looked to the side as a vivid red blush bloomed across his face. "Thanks."

"Hey! I made you blush!" Paris chuckled.

"Yeah. First time for everything, I suppose!"

They continued to eat their breakfast, with Gilbert wolfing down the eggs and André tasting smaller slices of it. Naturally, Gilbert finished first. He leaned forwards, arm supporting one cheek and looking at Paris.

"So," he started. "Mind if I hear some more?" At the last word, André glanced up and raised an eyebrow.

"Sure."


	2. Vanilla cookies

**_Christmas special :D_**

* * *

Start your portfolio in September, they said. It will be fine, they said. Sure, it left much more leisure time for André, but this portfolio was for the entry to the Politecnico di Milano in Italy, one of the top art universities in the world, and damn was the competition fierce! You could never know what would happen!

Rising up, he stretched, his aching hamstrings finally pulling to their proper limits, the chilly air freezing his lungs before he exhaled a puff of smoke.

He shivered. The temperature had really dropped over the past couple of days, didn't it? Only when he raised his head and looked outside did he realise how much he had closed himself in his room. Outside, sheets of white, fluffy snow layered upon the roads, houses, and trees, remaining outliers sprinkling its magic so that this ordinary suburb turned into a page of a children's picture book. There were kids outside, bundled up in their cozy Winter gear who played with their toboggans, building snowmen, and hosting snowball fights. At the sight, André smiled. He had been working so hard that he hadn't noticed that it snowed.

Looking down at his current project, he grabbed the tissues and rubbed the pastels off of his fingers. It was a surrealism inspired piece, with neon greens and ruby reds swirling into an abstract, melting ballerina. He frowned, tilted his head, and blinked. Did it look weird? Was this completed yet? No, he had been staying inside too long, he needed a walk. All the staying inside had clouded his head with dust, he needed the fresh, cool air outside to clear his mind.

But someone blocked the front door as he opened it. André's stomach did flips as soon as he saw who it was. After all, it wasn't every day that your albino crush came over.

"Gil?" Gilbert glanced up, his red eyes wide out of surprise, a cherry red flush spreading across his face. How cute- André mentally slapped himself. It was likely just the weather, doofus!

"André!" Gilbert replied with a huge, flashy smile, "Funny! I was just about to drop this!" Gilbert lifted a small, green cellophane bag full of cookies. André squinted, realising from their holly shapes and their packaging that they looked like the ones Francis baked. "So you know how Francis baked cookies for everyone before he left for foreign exchange?" There was a suspicious amount of detail in Gilbert's words, but nevertheless, André nodded. A few days ago, Francis had left for foreign exchange and gave everyone cookies. "Well, it turns out that he left some excess! He just phoned me and asked me to deliver them. So… yeah." Gilbert gave one small smile and laugh.

André raised an eyebrow. He would've been relaxed if Gilbert wasn't fidgeting as if he had something to hide. But he smiled, gave back a thank you with a goodbye, and went to the kitchen, carrying the cookies as if they were a precious treasure. From the behaviour, a hunch in his back suspected that no, Gilbert didn't run a regular errand and that something had been done.

Knowing Gil, in these situations, he would do practical pranks like spiking them with chilli powder. He reached into the fridge and grabbed Francis' leftover cookies. But at the same time, Gilbert would pull up the poker face so perfect, no one would notice that small, cheeky grin until it was too late. Just then, Gilbert fidgeted, shifting in his spot, tucking his hands into his pockets, eyes darting side to side. Something was up.

Opening the crinkling cellophane, he inspected them, tapping his fingers onto the table, figuring how they might've been modified. Unfortunately, when compared side by side with Francis' the icing and shape looked identical, even the shine on the berries that Francis piped.

He hung his head in defeat. The only way to tell if they were changed was to taste them. Sucking up air, he picked up the ones Gilbert delivered and bit into the sweet, crunchy treat.

After the familiar taste of vanilla hit his tongue, he opened his eyes. Huh. They actually taste very nice. Raising an eyebrow, he chewed some more. There was something off with the vanilla taste, he didn't know what. Otherwise, he found himself savouring the taste. Sweet, crunchy, mingled with a delicious vanilla bite… to his surprise, a satisfied hum came out of him.

Before he knew it, the cookie was eaten. He huffed. Fine. They looked like Francis' cookies, they tasted like Francis' cookies, if only somewhat… fine, Gilbert was telling the truth, and now he's off the hook. But nothing seemed to have been done to them. So why was Gilbert so flustered?

Unfortunately, André didn't know the answer to that question. Wanting to feel better, he reasoned to himself that Gilbert was just running an errand. Huffing, André picked up Francis' cookie. Maybe he should finish some of Francis', they'll go stale if they're left alone.

The moment the potent vanilla flavour hit his tongue, his eyes widened as the final part of the equation came.

The vanilla from Gil's batch had been a different type. Gilbert baked these cookies for him. Heart pounding against his chest, he grabbed Gilbert's cookie and bit into the leaf. Sure enough, this vanilla taste was a lot more mellow and lacked that potent tang. A vivid blush bloomed right after.

* * *

"How cute, you made them be like Francis', didn't you?" André asked Gil at school the next day. Gilbert raised both of his snowy eyebrows, eyes darting to the side.

"Huh? What do you mean?" He let out a nervous laugh, though a blush was beginning to emerge. André looked across his face and smirked.

"You know, Francis is a food snob, and only uses the highest quality ingredients. Should've used the Madagascan vanilla, huh?" Gilbert's eyes darted side to side, his eyebrows furrowed. As the realisation hit, his eyes widened as a vivid cherry flush dyed his pale skin.


	3. At home, liebling

"Don't, I hate holding hands in public."

It had fallen out of his mouth before he had the time to gulp it back. Only now when Gilbert stared into André's puzzled turquoise eyes did he realise how hurtful and defensive that must've sounded. André's rejected hand hung, waiting for an answer. He gritted his teeth. Fuck.

"Of course, it's not that anything is wrong with you, it's just I don't like people erhm," he cleared his throat, "excuse me, people looking at us being so… open." He just made this worse, didn't he?

"Is this your 'hating being vulnerable in public' habit?"

"Yes."

"Alright then." André retracted his hand and continued to walk. "But we can cuddle once we get back home, right?"

Gilbert bit his bottom lip and nodded. Well at least André accepted what a sap he was at heart. "Sure."


	4. Windows to the soul

Sometimes in the morning, André liked to watch Gilbert rest as the lavender morning sun rose and framed his face.

He was so pale that he resembled a marble statue sometimes. Being pale, the way the light shone on him was interesting to watch. How it illuminated his almost transparent hair, how it made his eyelashes glow, how it formed shadows across his skin.

Gilbert stirred, letting out a sigh, and cracked opened his eyes.

"Bonne matin, mon ange," André teased, and Gilbert let out a scoff.

"Again with the cheese, really?"

"I like it." He leaned in for a kiss, and they lied down, closer together, admiring each other as they played with each others' hair.

Gilbert's eyes were unique. They were this part pink, part blue shade that would look red at a certain light. His irises were red as well, similar to that of a rabbit's, which set him farther apart from the eyes of other people. He used to be hesitant around them, but now he could find them to be quite beautiful.

"What?" Gilbert joked, glancing away as a light pink bloomed across his pale skin like watercolours on wet paper.

"Your eyes are pretty. That's all. Like you." Gilbert laughed.

"Me? No." André traced his eyebrows; fine like tassels of undyed silk.

"Either way, they suit you. Eyes are the windows to the soul, after all."

"Oh? Tell me about it."

"Your eyes. In some shades of light, they look red. In others, they look like this pinkish colour. Hell, sometimes, they're blue. Like the shades of your eyes, you always keep me guessing, and you always surprise me with something new, each and every day." He planted a kiss upon Gilbert's forehead. "I like that."

Gilbert smiled.


End file.
